lost in translation

In a jam packed week I managed to go out with two guys between all my other engagements (school, shopping, and sightseeing). My first date was a disappointment mostly because this guy seemed to have so much potential. Wednesday night Officer save the world picked me up at my flat at about 8pm and we headed out for pizza at a place called Bogart's. He asked me what I wanted on my pizza and when I asked if I could have half without meat, he seemed puzzled. Eventually he let it slide, like being passively accepting the rational of a child whose mind can't be swayed due to insolence. It bothered me, but what bothered me more was that reflecting on the night, he didn't ask me one question about myself. Not one. Doesn't that seem odd?

He took me for a drive out to see all the "views" of Sydney, which were breathtaking and pretty romantic, especially under a canopy of upside down constellations. But I wasn't feeling the awkwardness that had settled between us. We sat on a bench, while he "pushed" me into making out with him. As he pushed into me, I pushed away. It was so irritating. I just felt like the whole time he was going through the motions. When he suggested he come over so "we can be naughty" (who says that???), I told it wasn't going to happen because I barely knew him. I used to think that guys who wanted to sleep with a girl by the fourth date were being pushy. Thankfully he hasn't called. Apparently, in Sydney, I'm a prude to think I should at least know a few details about a guy before I sleep with him.

To make cheer myself up, I answer the persistent text messaging of my Verona boy, and when he asks, "can i see you?" I text him and tell him I'll meet him in the city. I can't help but smile around him, his big blue eyes, his mop of loose curly hair, and between us barely a sentence in one language. I don't know much about this boy, who is slightly younger than myself. We head to the boardwalk, grab a coffee and he tries, despite the barriers, to find out a little about me.

He's pretty sweet and I can't resist when he leans in for a kiss. It's kind of endearing to see us, both speaking to each other in a different languages. In all this struggle to communicate, there is an absence of deception, and something refreshingly forward. "When can I see you again?" He asks. I'm not sure this is going anywhere but where I find myself right now. When I get home, an Italian text message on my phone is as transparent as it gets in this silly upside down world, "Mi piaci molto! xx" (I like you a lot). I think I'll take Officer save the world's advice and embrace this moment.